𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

October 28, 1984.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

The kind of night that swallowed sound.

Rain hadn't come yet, but the air was thick with the promise of it. A dull streetlight buzzed over a quiet suburban street, painting the world in a pale orange haze. Parked beneath it was a faded gray van, engine off, lights dimmed.

Inside, Erin sat in the back, knees drawn up, a worn notebook balanced against them. She tapped the end of her pen rhythmically against the cover—tap, tap, tap—a heartbeat against the silence.

From the front seat, Mick groaned.

"Could you not do that?" she muttered, fingers drumming the steering wheel. "You're driving me insane."

Erin didn't look up.

"Then don't listen," she shot back, voice calm.

Before Mick could reply, the silence shattered.

A shrill alarm screamed from the house across the street, a sprawling, white-brick home with security lights flaring to life like angry eyes. Erin straightened, closing the notebook in one smooth motion.

The front door burst open. Figures in masks sprinted into the night.

"Go! Go! Go! Go!" a boy shouted, his voice cracking through the commotion.

"Move it!" another yelled.

And a girl's voice cut through the chaos:

"Let's get out of here!"

Erin threw open the van's rear doors just as the masked group reached her. One by one they dove inside, breathless, adrenaline pumping. The last one barely made it before Erin slammed the doors shut.

"Drive!" someone barked.

The van roared to life, tires screeching against the wet pavement. They tore down the street, headlights slicing through the dark, just as the distant wail of police sirens began to rise behind them.

"Shit," Mick hissed, slamming the gas pedal to the floor.

Through the thin metal walls, Erin could hear everything, the pounding of their hearts, the heavy breathing, the chaos of the chase. The group pulled off their masks one by one, faces pale under the dim interior light. Erin pressed her back against the van wall, her notebook still clutched in her hands.

"Get them off us, Mick!" someone yelled from the passenger seat.

"I'm working on it! Hold on!" Mick snapped.

From the middle row, a calm voice broke through the panic.

"The alley. To your right," said Kali, her tone steady.

Mick nodded once and yanked the wheel. The van lurched violently to the right, throwing Erin sideways. Her head struck the cold metal with a thud.

The van plunged into a narrow alley, its tires spitting gravel. The police sirens grew fainter, then vanished into the maze of Pittsburgh's backstreets.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Kali turned in her seat, eyes locking on Erin. "They still there?"

Erin didn't answer right away. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as if listening to something far away, something no one else could hear. Seconds stretched. Then she opened them again, voice low.

"They're right behind us."

Almost on cue, the sirens blared again, louder this time. Blue and red lights flared in the rear windows.

"Oh, shit," Mick muttered, flooring the accelerator.

"Do something, Kali!" a boy shouted from the back. "Do something!"

"Next right," Kali said. "There's a tunnel. Take it."

Mick swerved hard, the van tilting as it rounded the corner. Ahead, the dark mouth of a tunnel opened like a beast waiting to swallow them whole.

Kali closed her eyes.

Behind them, the screech of tires echoed off the concrete walls, then a violent crash, metal twisting against metal. Three police cars collided in a shower of sparks and shattered glass.

"Boom."

The van sped through the tunnel, leaving chaos behind. Erin turned to look through the rear window, the flashing lights fading, the wreckage shrinking in the distance.

Cheers filled the van. Hands slapped shoulders, voices shouted triumph.

But Erin stayed silent.

She watched a little longer, until she was sure they were moving, alive. Then, only then, did she let out a slow breath and turn away.

She looked down at her notebook, now lying open on her lap. Her fingers traced the edges of a page before she clicked her pen and began to write, unbothered by the noise around her.

As the ink met paper, the sleeve of her jacket slipped back, revealing the mark on her wrist : 013.

Outside, thunder cracked and in the silence that followed, the storm finally began to fall.

Thank you so much for reading this far! 🎡

Just a quick note: although the store description highlights Erin, the journey begins with James's perspective in Chapter One. Get ready to meet him!

Your feedback means the world to me. Whether you felt moved, confused, or amused, please share your thoughts!

(My sincere apologies if you spot any clumsy grammar; I'm still mastering English.)